


Put the Romance in Romania

by orphan_account



Category: Bill & Ted (Movies)
Genre: Castles, Established Relationship, Gen, Himbo nonsense, Kissing, M/M, Post-Bogus Journey, world tour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-17 21:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21950185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Written for BnT Secret Santa 2019. Wyld Stallyns’s first world tour in 1995 is shredding most excellently, perfectly, even, until their hotel in Romania falls through.
Relationships: Ted "Theodore" Logan/Bill S. Preston Esq.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	Put the Romance in Romania

So much for putting the Romance in Romania. The sun is going down, and Ted “Theodore” Logan is not going down. “This sucks!” Ted lets the handle of Bill’s suitcase go sharply, the swing of his arm sending its wheels rattling across the pavement, before the whole thing topples over. He thinks this is a most excellent metaphor for the day he’s having. 

“I know, Ted.” He’s sent it ten times already. Bill’s teeth are clenched so hard that Ted can see the muscles of his jaw straining themselves. 

“The girls’ room worked just fine.”

“I _know_ , Ted.”

“It’s most un-magnanimous that we have to find somewhere else to stay for this leg.”

“ _I know_ , Ted!”

“We’re in Romania, dude! Everyone’s Roman or something. I didn’t take Latin!” He runs his hands through his hair, the motion too fast, practically striking himself in the face.

“Shut up, Ted!” Bill kicks the corpse of his fallen suitcase, which skids an inch further. Ted gives up, finally sitting, back slumped, hands on his knees. He thinks Bill could probably sleep in the suitcase, if he opened it up and scrawled inside, but he’s too tall for it--he’d need a triple wide, and still have his feet hanging over the edge of it.

Bill’s about to say something, but what it was is dust in the wind, picked up by the flash of lights, and the whirring of a force cutting through the atmosphere. The shadow of a long box hangs over them, heavy and welcome as it lands. In it, the outline of a man in a long coat lifts Ted’s spirits, and with them, the rest of his body from the suitcase. The door swings open, and it’s only looking up from here.

“Rufus!” They say at the same time.

“Hello, boys. I understand you’ve had a bit of hotel room trouble?”

“Yeah, dude!” Bill nods.

“How’d you know?” Ted doesn’t close his mouth, the ghost of an ‘o’ haunting his lips.

“I know because it’s already happened, remember?” He smiles, warm, almost fatherly--he does that, Ted thinks, a lot. Enough that he’d made the Froodian slip last Christmas to call him ‘dad,’ and he’d pretended not to notice.

“Oh, right.” He smiles, nodding. “Yeah that makes sense.”

“So!” Bill steps toward Rufus, further from his own suitcase. “How’re two dudes supposed to get a room around here?” His finger guns are flashing, and the look he shoots back at Ted makes him blush, barely thinks about the soft ‘ _dude_ ’ that me mutters under his breath.

“Well, boys, I’ve found there’s an older gentleman in the area, and for a bit of entertainment, he’d be willing to take in a few guests for the night.”

“Rufus, my man, you’re the best.” Bill goes in for a high five, half-future, half-now.

\--

“Ted, my dude, we’re not in San Dimas anymore.”

They’re standing at the mouth of a castle, looming, black and made of stone, dark enough that it almost blends into the cloudy night behind it, if you just loosen the focus of your eyes. It gives Ted the creeps. “Bill, my most esteemed colleague, you’re right.” He tries to shake off the heebie-jeebies, thinks he does a good job on the jeebies, but the heebies? Those are there to stay. “So what do we do?”

“Knock, dude, there are huge knockers, right there,” he says pointing. A beat of silence follows, and Ted drops both suitcase handles, to join him in a moment’s air guitar. As if cleansed by the familiar ritual of a tit-joke, he feels brave enough now to move the metal ring on the door, to clang it against the steel behind it a few times. 

The moment he turns his back, retrieving both of their luggage, the door swings open. “Whoa,” he whispers, wirling around as fast as he can with the suitcases. 

Bill shrugs, through his brows shooting upward suggest he’s not as un-ruffled as he acts, and walks through the door first. “Dude, there’s no one here.”

“Who opened the door?” Ted follows, and it shuts behind him before an answer can come. He swallows. “Something most ominous is about, dude.”

They walk a little further, Bill calling out a few attempted greetings. “What was our host even named, dude?”

“Uh.” He looks upward at the ceiling, which is far higher than he feels a ceiling should be. “Vlad? Mr. Vlad?” He frowns. “I couldn’t take notes when Rufus was talking. I left my pen in Italy.” He’d been meaning to get a new one, but he only remembered at times like these, miles away from anywhere he could buy one.

As they round a corner, something dark is moving in the corner of Ted’s eye. Before he can turn his head, a bat whirls past, its shrieks joined by Bill’s scream. He jumps, crashing sideways into Ted, whose arm goes around him so fast, and stays tight until the bat is gone, and it’s shrieking ends. 

“Dude! What was that!” Bill pulls himself out of Ted’s grip, as a man they haven’t seen rounds the corner. He’s tall, thin and pale as Death, who is most pale indeed, with hair reaching in a wide widow’s peak. His suit looks classy, professorial almost, if it weren’t for the sick, shiny black cloak around it, lined in bright red. 

“Good evening,” he says. His accent is thick, and strange--Ted thinks he’s heard it before. “I am your host. Vlad Dracula, Count of Wallachia.”

“How much is a Wallachia?” Ted asks, trying to take in the words he knew--Dracula, Vlad, Host, Count--and the ones he didn’t, both of them far too much to swallow at once. 

“Ted!” Bill hisses at a whisper. “Did you hear this dude? _Dracula_? Like the movie?” Ted nods. “That bat was him, dude! He’s a vampire.”

“Oh. Like Bauhaus.” Ted nods, thinking of the goths from their high school, understanding now what they were all trying to look like on a California teenager’s budget.

“It’s, uh, a pleasure to meet you Mr. Count Dracula, Sir,” Ted says, straightening up.

“I,” Bill says, “Am Bill S. Preston, Esquire. This is my esteemed colleague--” He reaches a hand out to gesture.

“Ted ‘Theodore’ Logan. And we are--”

They both finish in unison, “Half of Wyld Stallyns!”

Dracula smiles, which would have been nicer if his teeth weren’t red-stained. Ted remembers watching the movie through his hands enough to know he doesn’t drink.... _wine_.

“How delightful. I understand you produce,” he pauses, “new music?”

“Uh. Yeah. We made it, like, last year. So it’s pretty new.” Bill nods. ‘New’ had even progressed into ‘good,’ into ‘excellent,’ these past four years. 

“You must play for me. The organs no longer stirs me. I need new music to make my nights live again.” He leans against the bannister behind him.

Despite the definitely-bloodstained tint to his teeth. Ted can’t help but feel for the guy. He’d be pretty stir-crazy without music, too. “Well, Mr. Count Dracula, Sir, playing music is what we do best!”

\-- 

As they set up, they’re given a moment alone, which is a relief. Even a castle in the middle of Romania--Wallachia? who knows--isn’t so bad when it’s him and Bill versus the world. 

“Ted, dude, can we talk about earlier?” Bill asks, his hand hovering over his amp.

“Yeah, dude. What’s up?”

“When I jumped into your arms like that,” his eyes are solemn, his tone is low, like he’s afraid of being overheard. “It was kinda gay.” He’s faltering now, corner of his lips quirking.

“I hope so, dude!” He shoves his shoulder gently. “You’re my boyfriend. Having a boyfriend’s kinda gay.”

“Shut up, Ted,” he says softly. He kisses him then, amp abandoned. Ted doesn’t mind. They can stall a bit, and give Drac one hell of a show later, if it means Bill’s lips on his like this, if he can wrap his arms around Bill’s waist and pull him in for more.

Outside, it’s started to storm, but he doesn’t even feel the castle draft, curled up in this little corner of the castle like this. He has most definitely put the Romance in Romania.


End file.
